


Salvation

by sweetrupturedlight



Series: By God's Grace [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetrupturedlight/pseuds/sweetrupturedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a/n: This story is for LadyofGlencairn who sent me the prompt via tumblr - How does Aramis discover Anne's second pregnancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

It was after midnight mass when Aramis retreated to his small, functional room, the candle he carried casting fleeting halos and long shadows across the walls as he journeyed. The room was sparse - just a bed and a wooden desk - and so clean, he could eat from the floor if inclined to do so. Life at the abbey was a constant cycle of calm introspection, devout supplication and the satisfaction of productive labour in the yard or gardens. As sincere as his penance was, his love of the outdoors was undeniable. And so exerting energy while planting crops, mending fences or any other form of manual labour across the compound offered him a different kind of peace.

The abbey was quiet as he shut the door to his small cell - no shuffling feet, no bells or chimes to signify the call to prayer. This was the least active time at the monastery. Most of the order took a few hours sleep before the progression of reflection and worship began anew. He found it the perfect time – the  _only_  time – when he allowed himself to think for a while on the life he had had before he came to Douai.  _Small doses._  This was all he could manage. Anything more immersive and experience taught him that the yearning for a different life, the cravings to be a part of a different brotherhood became too much to bear. He had turned from that life – for good reason, the best of reasons. But that did not mean he did not relish when news arrived from his brothers in Paris.

Drawing the single candle near, Aramis unfolded the letter that had been delivered for him that morning. From the untidy scrawl on the front, he knew it was from Porthos. As such, he also knew it would be filled with a candid account of life at court. Porthos had very little patience for courtly protocols. His letters were therefore a refreshing departure from Athos's more factual, analytical accounts. D'artagnan's letters spoke little of court intrigue. They were amusing because they mostly requested Aramis's advice on how to deal with women –  _one_  woman in particular. As a married man, his young friend was struggling to balance life as a soldier and the demands of life as a husband.

_Aramis (should I bloody call you Father yet?)_

_I still cannot believe you've turned me into one of those writin' types._  [Aramis grinned, able to picture just how grumpy Porthos must have been as he penned the note.] _You know how much I find it a waste of good time. Right this minute some of the lads 'ave quite a large wager on whether Renaud or Villeneuve will make it through Musketeer training. You remember them, eh? One tall an' skinny as musket, the other awkward an' useless with the ladies – even the payin' kind. And instead of putting the right fear of God in 'im, I'm writing a bloody letter to you._ [Aramis's grin spread. Oh how he missed his friend.] _Athos says I should shut it and stop complainin'. Truth is, I miss you yeah? As much as I love Athos and the young one, they both lack finesse when it comes to charming the ladies. I find my success with the opposite sex has been severely compromised without your idiotic – but pretty - face to reel 'um in._ [Aramis had no doubt. The issue was not because of looks – Porthos had many an admirer. But like D'artagnan, he failed to understand the subtle nuances one had to employ when wooing a woman. Aramis chuckled. Perhaps he should provide some insightful instruction in his reply; put Porthos out of his misery.] _The lads miss you too. Bloody hell, we all do._  [Aramis pinched the bridge of his nose. Dear God, he missed them too. More than he would ever admit to. It was best his friends believe him in a place of peace and contentment. Mostly, he was content and determined. But if he spoke of anything contrary, Porthos would ride to Douai and never leave without him.]

 _Samira wrote to say she's headin' this way and might pass through Paris. Said she'd keep in touch, never thought she actually meant it. It's been a while. But I can't say it won't be a right treat to see her again. Feisty she was. Yeah. I think I'm lookin' forward to it_. [Ah, he likes her, Aramis thought. All the more reason to pen some notes on wooing, he reminded himself.]

 _Ah bloody hell. I think a fight is brewing in the courtyard. Best I go and encourage the violence._ [Aramis could picture Porthos's excitement at the mere thought.]

 _Oi, before I forget. The King is in the best of spirits. Yeah, urm… Her Majesty, The Queen…_ [Aramis felt his heartbeat increase a little, knowing Porthos would not mention her if he did not have to. The fact that he wrote now with so many ellipses separating his thoughts was testament to how he struggled to find the right words. Aramis felt his eyes skip ahead, trying to take in as much of the words as possible.]  _I urm… don't suppose it's the type of news that'd be of interest to a monastery filled with men who've abandoned worldly pursuits, but yeah… Her Majesty birthed another son. Don't think I told you she was pregnant in my last letter. Thought it best not to… you know…_

[The sentence ended right there and Aramis knew why. Porthos had not wanted to remind him of the past, of what he had sacrificed and how much he missed her –  _them_  – daily. The letter fluttered to the table as shock stiffened his hands.  _Birthed another son?_  Anne had another child? Aramis did not need to count back to know. He knew. The one night she had spent in sanctuary, the night he vowed to return to her someday, had resulted in another pregnancy. Aramis ran his hands through his hair, unable to decide how he felt about the news. His hands fisted, pulling almost painfully at the strands. He had  _another_  son. His conscious reminded him that the child could actually be the King's, a true heir. But his heart knew better. He picked up the letter again and scanned the rest of the contents.]

 _As you can imagine, His Majesty is right impressed and because of it, the Musketeers have gained some favour. Might be cause the Minister aint havin' none of his-_ [Again the sentence ended abruptly and Aramis could imagine Porthos biting his tongue. Instead, he continued on his previous tack.]  _We attended the boy's christening last week. He is Philippe, Duke of Orléans. Has a pair of lungs I tell you. Screamed the entire time. Couldn't blame him if I'm honest. It was hot, he was in that bloody jeweled gown and the Priest kept prattling on and on_. [Aramis laughed involuntarily because Porthos had written as an afterthought, "I'm sure you know what I mean."]

 _Aramis, when you start christening babies, a word of advice yeah? Keep it short. Bloody hell, I think Athos - I mean, the Captain_ [Porthos had underlined the word Captain a few times] _\- has entered the yard. Means all the funs about to end. I've got to head downstairs, see if I can salvage my stake in the wager._

 _Write soon, eh? And don't leave out any of the riveting details. You know how I love hearing about midnight mass and afternoon mass and morning mass and how many other types of mass is there yeah? Too bloody many, if you ask me._ [Aramis grinned again because Porthos had boldly scrawled, SORRY at the dig.]

_Your brother, Porthos._

Aramis fingered the bold, inked "P" and shook his head. Porthos really did on occasion have the flair for the dramatic. He reread the note again, committing what he could to memory before touching the corner to the candle's flame. A letter, the sentiment attached to it, was categorised as a worldly possession. It would not be appropriate for him to hold onto any of them. He never did.

 _A son._  Anne had birthed another son. He had never imagined himself as a father, much less one who had two sons he could never claim. Would Philippe look like him? Or would he, like the Dauphin, favour Anne in most respects? Pinching his eyes shut, he cursed under his breath and immediately stopped his train of thought. It would not do him any good to ponder it. His time for reflection was past. But he allowed himself a moment of joy – only a moment – as he strengthened his vow. Someday he would return to Anne. And to both his sons.

Reaching for the crucifix around his neck, Aramis pressed it to his lips, sending a quick prayer to the heavens. He had made his share of mistakes and hoped the penance in this lifetime would be enough to secure his salvation.


End file.
